Catalysts
by dust on the wind
Summary: In chemistry, the best results are obtained when the right elements are brought together. In war, the same principle applies...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_I wasn't planning to start posting this yet, but konarciq needs something to read._

_Cover image: Henry Alexander (1860-1894) "In The Laboratory" (detail)_

* * *

As usual, they waited until the middle of the night before telling her she was being moved to a new location, and they gave her just a quarter of an hour to pack.

Major Walther woke her from her sleep to deliver the news, which he did with his customary polite detachment. As always, he spoke in English, their tacitly accepted language of mutual convenience: "I regret the disturbance, Dr Lechay, but your security takes priority over all other matters."

He seemed indifferent to her state of _deshabillé_, but the door of her little room stood open to the curious eyes of the two soldiers standing outside, and Suzanne pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Nonetheless, her response rang with dignified hauteur: "I understand perfectly. It would be very inconvenient for your superiors if the _Résistance _were to discover where I am being held."

She had made a point, right from the start, of never addressing him by name. At first she had meant it as a show of defiance towards the authority he held over her, and of contempt for any representative of the hated German invaders who had dared to occupy her country. If he was aware of the intended slight, he had never shown it; but after so many months it had become a habit.

"You will be ready to leave in fifteen minutes," he said impassively. "Anything you have not packed by then will be left behind."

"May I ask where you are taking me this time?"

"I will tell you this much. It has been decided, for various reasons, that you are no longer to be allowed to stay in France. You are being transferred to a facility in Germany where you will continue your work. That is all you need to know at this time."

He left the room, closing the door behind him, but she knew his subordinates would wait outside for precisely fifteen minutes before bursting back in to escort her to whatever kind of transport had been provided. If she was not dressed and ready to go, they would take her as she was, barefoot and in her nightgown.

Since she had been in Major Walther's custody, she had learned to pick her battles with discretion. She muttered under her breath, but she threw back the coverlet and reached for her clothes.

A quarter of an hour later, with her little portmanteau in her hand and the two guards at her heels, she stepped out of the building. The lightweight, hip-length jacket she wore had been designed for strolling through the gardens of Paris in spring, but provided little protection from a cold and foggy November night; and the thin crimson scarf around her throat gave only a little extra comfort. Unfortunately the limitations of her wardrobe left her few options. For a woman in her situation, it was a minor irritation, but it stung all the more for its very paltriness.

Walther was waiting for her, standing beside a black, square-bodied, windowless delivery van, at sight of which Suzanne's lips thinned. "Really? This, again?"

"We cannot risk allowing you to be seen, madame," he replied coolly. "A little discomfort is a small price to pay to ensure your security."

He opened the rear door of the van, and offered her his hand, but she ignored the courtesy and climbed inside without his assistance. The interior of the vehicle had wooden benches running along each side, allowing for the transport of passengers instead of goods. Suzanne sat down at the far end. They never let her sit near the door.

Knowing how cold and uncomfortable this journey would be, she silently accepted a blanket and pillow from Walther, and settled down for what she expected to be a long night. He took his place beside her, with the other two _Boche _soldiers sitting opposite; the driver, who had been standing by, closed and latched the door, and a few moments later, a rumble from the engine signalled their departure.

It was not Walther's habit to make small talk during these removals. He sat in silence, allowing Suzanne to sleep if she chose. In fact, although she closed her eyes, the chaos in her mind made it impossible for her to even drowse.

How had they found out? Another two days, and she would have been free. Instead, she was on her way back to Germany, where her chances of escape would be almost non-existent. She could almost have wept with vexation, but for the presence of Walther and his men.

She had no way of measuring the passage of time, apart from the gradual cramping and stiffening of her limbs, and the tired, prickling ache between her eyelids. When at last she stumbled from the van, the grey light of early morning had dawned, allowing her to see where she was. The van had arrived in a small courtyard, surrounded by massive stone walls and overlooked by a high, square tower; apparently some kind of château or _Residenz_. Not an ideal location for a research laboratory, but as a prison, it appeared to have everything it needed.

Suzanne had thought her spirits could not get any lower, but her heart dropped with a thump at sight of the junior officer who was waiting for them. Detestable though her situation had been since her capture, at least she had the good luck to be in the custody of the regular army. Every branch of the _Wehrmacht_ was interested in her work in synthetic fuel development, and some of them were harsher than others in their treatment of recalcitrant prisoners. The presence of an SS officer here could not possibly be a good omen.

Ignoring Suzanne, he greeted Walther with a Nazi salute_._ "_Oberführer_ Scharf is expecting you," he said. "Follow me, please."

Walther gestured to Suzanne to precede him, and fell into step behind her as their guide conducted them through a long, echoing stone passage and up a wide flight of stairs to the second floor, where he knocked on a heavy panelled door before opening it.

"_Herr Oberführer_, Major Walther and the woman are here," he announced.

"Show them in, Müller, and wait outside."

_Do not let them see you are afraid_, Suzanne told herself fiercely. She stalked into the office, bracing herself to stare down any number of SS brutes. It was almost a disappointment to find only the officer in command, standing behind the desk at the far end of the room.

He was a big man, taller than Walther by half a head, and probably some ten years older. His uniform carried a substantial weight in decorations, including at his throat the Knight's Cross, with oakleaf cluster. Walther, who only wore a small display of combat medals and a silver Wound Badge, looked underdressed by comparison.

_Oberführer _Scharf returned Walther's salute, and favoured Suzanne with a slight bow which brought an angry flush to her cheeks. "It is a pleasure to welcome you, madame. I have heard a great deal about you, and I am sure your contribution to our work will be most valuable."

Suzanne did not reply, and after a moment, Walther intervened. "Dr Lechay has refused to learn our language, sir. She does, however, speak English."

"Which I do not. No matter. We will soon bring her to a more reasonable frame of mind, and in the meantime her co-workers will have no trouble communicating with her," said Scharf. Behind Suzanne's impassive countenance a spark of contempt flickered into life at such ignorance. Did he really believe a research chemist could achieve anything worthwhile unless she had a sound knowledge of the language in which so many scientific papers were published?

She glanced at Walther, noting the slightly perplexed crease between his eyebrows, which deepened as Scharf went on: "This is a great step forward, Major. Now that your superiors and mine have reached an agreement to pool our resources, I think we will see a much faster rate of progress. Before you leave for your next posting, I hope you will be able to take the time to bring us up to date on the latest developments within your project."

"Forgive me, sir, but I think there has been some kind of miscommunication," said Walther. "My understanding is that Dr Lechay is still assigned to the service of the army, and my orders are to remain with her as long as she is here

"An administrative oversight," grunted Scharf. "Nevertheless, if those are your orders...I will speak to your superior myself."

"General von Greifen is in Libya, on an inspection tour. However, I'm sure on his return he will be happy to discuss the matter with you."

Walther's manner could not have been more respectful, and Scharf let it pass. "Very well. Since you are staying here, you might as well make yourself useful by acting as interpreter. My aide will show you to the guest quarters, and conduct Dr Lechay to her accommodation. You may take a few minutes to refresh after your long trip, then he will bring you to the laboratory so our new colleague can make the acquaintance of her fellow scientists. Please inform her of this."

Without batting an eyelid, Walther turned to Suzanne, and spoke in English: "You will now be taken to your quarters, and then to the laboratory to meet the other researchers."

She glared at him. "Am I to be given a chance to make up for my lost night of sleep?"

"No."

"What did she say?" asked Scharf.

"She says she can hardly wait to start work," replied Walther.

Scharf regarded him with narrowed eyes, then uttered a short laugh, and walked to the door. "Then let us waste no further time. Müller!"

His underling, standing outside as ordered, came to attention: "_Jawohl, Herr Oberführer!_"

"Take Dr Lechay to her room, and show Major Walther to the guest quarters. When they have had a few minutes to freshen up, bring them to the laboratory. I will meet you there, Major. I fancy your charge will be quite impressed with the facilities."

"I have no doubt she will, sir," said Walther. "_Madame, s'il vous plaît._"

Suzanne swept past him with a swift comment, once again in English: "Your accent is terrible."

A gleam of amusement flickered across the SS lackey's face, but he quickly resumed his stolid demeanour. "This way, Major."

They followed him along another dimly-lit passage, went up another flight of stairs and turned into a long gallery which ran at right angles to the main range of the building. "All of our researchers sleep in this wing," Müller explained. "You will be quartered here, Major."

He opened a door, revealing a large chamber, elaborately panelled but furnished with Spartan simplicity. Walther stepped forward to make a cursory inspection. "It will do," he said. "Where is Madame Lechay to be accommodated?"

"She has been allocated a room at the other end of this passage. You are welcome to inspect, if you wish."

"It would be best." The major glanced at his charge. "She may look innocent enough, but you would be surprised at how ingenious she can be when it comes to finding and exploiting the slightest weakness in security. As I am still responsible for her pending further orders, I prefer to satisfy myself personally that her opportunities here will be limited."

Suzanne bridled at the curious look Müller gave her, but unless she was prepared to admit she had understood the entire conversation, she could not cut him down to size. In any case, he set off again, and she had no choice but to go along.

"By the way," said Walther, "the men of my company who came here with me - they are to return to France at once, to assist in closing down our facility there. I would be pleased if you could arrange for them to have a meal before they leave."

"Of course, _Herr Major_. As soon as I have shown you to the laboratory, I will direct them to the mess hall."

"I wonder if you could do so immediately. The sooner they have fed, the sooner they can be on their way. I will stay with her until you return."

They had arrived at the end of the gallery, and Müller stopped in front of the last door, regarding the major with a slight frown. "I believe _Oberführer _Scharf meant me to stay with Dr Lechay."

Walther gave a tight little smile. "I have kept this woman in safe custody for almost a year. I am quite sure I can manage to do so for another ten minutes. Please do as I have asked."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_," muttered the SS man, after a few seconds. He unlocked the door and stood aside. Suzanne glanced at Walther, then stepped inside.

This room was even more sparsely furnished than the guest quarters. A plain single bed with a flat pillow and a thin duvet in a coarse cover; a wash-stand with a plain enamel basin and jug; and a row of little wooden pegs fixed to the wall. The bareness of the facilities, along with the lock on the door, confirmed what she had already deduced. Her new employers would be treating her with even less consideration than she was accustomed to.

"Very comfortable," observed Walther. Both his tone and his expression were entirely neutral, but Müller seemed aware of some underlying disapproval, and hastened to explain.

"The _Oberführer_ believes privileges must be earned. Once she has demonstrated her willingness to co-operate fully, she will be rewarded with a few additional luxuries."

"I meant no criticism. The facilities seem entirely adequate. Thank you, that will be all for now."

Müller stood his ground for a few seconds, as if considering whether he should challenge the dismissal; but something in the major's demeanour discouraged any such liberties. With obvious reluctance, he saluted, turned on his heel, and left the room.

Suzanne sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the scarf from around her throat and holding it with both hands. She watched in silence while Walther made a brief inspection of the room, and only when he had finished did she speak: "He will certainly tell that pig of a Kommandant that he left us alone."

"Perhaps." Walther went to examine the narrow, barred window. "But I don't think we need concern ourselves about it."

Her hands clenched tightly on the soft fabric. "Do they already suspect something? Is that why I have been brought here?"

"If they had the slightest suspicion, I would already be under arrest. No, this is simply a matter of inter-service politics. The SS wanted you attached to their project, and they have achieved their aim, for now. Please, madame, do not allow your courage to fail. I admit, this is an unlucky turn of events, but it is not yet a complete disaster."

He walked back to the door, and opened it slightly, just enough to see if there was anyone there. "We may even be able to turn this to our advantage. I had concerns about dealing with the resistance in France. They were suspicious of me, and some of them seemed ready to question whether your co-operation with the _Wehrmacht _ was really obtained under duress. I could not be certain you would be safe in their hands."

She lifted her chin. "Then I would have made my own escape, without their help."

"You would not have lasted more than a few days," replied Walther bluntly. "To survive you must have friends who are willing to hide you, and feed you, and keep you safe."

"It would not have been impossible. I still have friends in France, if I could have reached them. But now we are in Germany... "

"Even in Germany, there are some of us who oppose the Nazis." Walther closed the door, and stood with his back against it. "You had better make yourself ready to meet the other scientists. We need to keep up appearances, now more than ever."

Suzanne had to fight against an almost irresistible impulse to demand more information. She stood up, removed her coat and hung it on one of the pegs on the wall, leaving the scarf on the bed. The jug on the washstand was half-full of cold water; she poured a little into the basin, splashed her face and dried it on the rough-textured towel, then rummaged in her case for a comb and ran it through her hair. Having done so much, she turned to Walther, expectant and determined.

A faint smile crossed his lips; not the distant, cynical smile he used in public, but something a little kinder. "There is an Underground cell operating in this area. When the order came through last night for your removal, I made a call to one of my colleagues in Berlin, a man we can trust. He is going to contact the local people and ask for their help. I will telephone him as soon as I can, on the pretext of clarifying my orders. Once we know whether the Underground can help us, we will be able to make a new plan. But we must act fast. I will not be able to extend my stay here beyond a few days."

He broke off, listening, then stepped aside, giving her a warning look. A few seconds later, the door opened and Müller came back in.

"Your men have been directed to the mess hall, _Herr Major_," he announced. "If Dr Lechay is ready, I will now take you to the laboratory, in accordance with _Oberführer_ Scharf's orders."

"I'm sure we don't want to keep the _Oberführer _waiting," said Walther, resuming his air of polite detachment. "Madame, if you please..." He held out his hand as though intending to take Suzanne's arm, but she avoided it and walked out ahead of him. Müller locked the door behind them, and kept the key.

The laboratory, it transpired, was located below the central range of the building, in what must at one time have been the cellars; a cold, high-vaulted space, brought up to date with electric lighting and ventilators set high in the walls, and half-filled with a complex arrangement of distillation apparatus. Two or three assistants in white coats were at work, under the scrutiny of a pair of armed guards.

Scharf was already there, talking to a bespectacled, fleshy-looking man of middle years, with short-cropped hair and an overly ruddy complexion. It was this individual who stepped forward to greet Suzanne, speaking in heavily German-accented English: "Ah, Dr Lechay. It is a great pleasure to welcome you. My name is Kroehl, and I am in charge of this project."

Vaguely, Suzanne remembered seeing his name on some undistinguished research papers, years ago. From what she could recall, he was hardly one of the leading scientific minds of the day, but it didn't surprise her to find him in a position of authority. Under Nazi rule, compliance frequently took precedence over ability.

She didn't respond to his greeting, but her silence only made him more effusive: "I have followed your work with interest for years, especially your experiments with the Merbecke process. We already have on our staff one of your colleagues from those days. In fact, I believe he has been a friend of yours for a very long time."

He waved a pudgy hand towards another scientist working at a nearby bench. "Professor, if you please."

It took a few seconds for the man to turn around, and he seemed to do so reluctantly. Nevertheless he met Suzanne's astonished gaze without flinching. She even thought she saw a hint of disapproval in the lines of his gentle, intellectual countenance.

"I'm sure you remember Professor Henri Dubois," said Kroehl. "If I am not mistaken, he was your supervisor during your doctoral programme."

"Oh, yes. I remember Professor Dubois very well."

Suzanne's voice remained steady, but behind her cool facade, a turmoil of disbelief and anger had taken possession of her, so powerful she was sure everyone present must also feel it.

_How could he do this? Of all people, how could he?_

* * *

Notes:

Suzanne Lechay (_Hogan And The Lady Doctor_, season 2) and Henri Dubois (_The Scientist_, season 1) are both considered experts in the development of synthetic fuel. It seems reasonable to assume they might have worked together at some time in the past.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't take long for Suzanne's opinion of Dr Kroehl, based on what she remembered of his published work, to gather plenty of empirical evidence. After observing the processes being tested in his laboratory, processes which represented months of experimentation performed under his direction, she came to the conclusion that he was indeed a very poor scientist; and it gave her a bitter sense of satisfaction to know how little of value was ever likely to come from this project.

This realisation, however, had a catalytic effect on her other assumptions. Kroehl's incompetence was no surprise, but it was inconceivable that an astute scientific thinker such as Henri Dubois could be unaware of how little the current line of research was going to achieve. Yet he seemed to have made no attempt to bring about any real progress.

She caught his eye once, while Kroehl was explaining how his new process improved upon the work of his predecessors: "As the focus of our work is to produce an efficient and inexpensive fuel from grain crops, much of our time has been spent on the problem of biochemical conversion. After testing various methods, we found by reducing the temperature in the fermentation tank, and introducing a triple distillation and filtering procedure, the result is a very pure product, although so far the performance has been somewhat inconsistent."

Suzanne could only hope he didn't know how close she was to laughter. By pressing her lips together tightly, she managed to suppress it, and to respond with an appropriate degree of prim gravitas: "This is to be expected, when one is developing a completely new process. May I ask how you came up with such an innovative approach?"

"I could not really tell you. It was pure inspiration," said Kroehl, puffing out his chest like a pink-faced pigeon. "Naturally, we are also continuing your work with the Merbecke process, which was interrupted by the outbreak of hostilities. It produces a fuel which is inferior in quality, but quite adequate for non-military uses."

"_Merci_," murmured Suzanne. She glanced at Dubois, realised he was watching her and quickly looked away. She had already noticed the streaks of grey in his hair, and the dark shadows under his eyes, shadows which had not been there the last time she had seen him. In only two years, he appeared to have aged by ten, and she suddenly wondered whether she, too, looked older than she should.

It was a pity Major Walther was no longer here. His skill in the art of neutral observation, annoying though she found it, might have proven useful, since she herself was scarcely impartial in this instance; but he had gone to make some telephone calls, with the stated aim of clearing up the misunderstanding about his orders. For now, Suzanne would have to use her own judgement.

"Well, madame, what do you think of our achievements?" said Kroehl.

She allowed herself to look a trifle mortified. "Your ideas are very interesting, but quite different to anything I have seen before," she said. "If I am to contribute to your work, I will need to adjust my thinking. You must let me study your data and the results of your experiments."

"Of course. Professor Dubois will show you our files, and answer any questions you might have. I regret I cannot spare any more time at present, but we will talk again after lunch. Until then, madame." Kroehl gave her a precise, corpulent little bow, and toddled away.

"He is a very busy man," said Dubois, dropping into French. "Some days he is too busy to do any work at all."

Watched by the SS men on guard, he ushered Suzanne across the laboratory and into a side room. A long table, surrounded by chairs, took up most of the floor space, and the shelves along the walls were stacked with file boxes, binders and notebooks. "These are the files relating to Professor Kroehl's research. I do not think you will learn much from them, but it would be prudent to have some of them open, in case anyone comes to check on us."

"Apparently the main product of Professor Kroehl's process is paperwork," observed Suzanne. "Does he have any idea that all he has come up with is an overly complicated procedure for making bad vodka?"

Dubois pursed up his lips in the old familiar way, trying not to smile. "Strictly speaking, it is not vodka."

"Nor is it by any means a valid synthetic fuel."

"No. No, it is not," said Dubois. "How disappointed he will be when he finds out."

"And his experiments with the Merbecke process?"

"Unfortunately, as Dr Kroehl explained, the fuel is not of a very high grade. For some reason, the process is much less efficient now than it was when you and I worked on it together. I cannot imagine why." His eyes gleamed momentarily, but his expression remained grave. "Moreover, for a very small yield of fuel, we end up with substantial quantities of by-products – acetone and ethanol. Our very excellent _Oberführer _has been trying to sell them to various manufacturers in Chemnitz, but since he is unwilling to forego his percentage of the proceeds, it is unlikely they will come to an agreement. In the meantime, the secondary products are being kept in a store-room beyond the laboratory until a more suitable place can be found."

Apparently at random, he selected a file from one of the shelves, put it on the table and started leafing through the contents. "It came as a shock to me when they told me you were being brought here. I had hoped so very much you had escaped before the Germans arrived."

"There were papers at the _Institut_, research documents which had to be destroyed. By the time I had made sure there was nothing left for the invaders, they were already in control of the area. I went into hiding, but I was betrayed by someone I thought I could trust." Suzanne broke off abruptly. She did not like to remember that betrayal, nor to think of what had followed. After a few seconds, she went on: "And you?"

The page in Dubois's fingers trembled, and when he spoke, his voice was a little husky. "My wife was ill, too ill to be moved. I could not leave her. The commander of the German force was generous enough to leave us alone until…" He faltered, then left the rest of the sentence behind, and continued. "Afterwards, he told me I would be allowed to continue my work for the benefit and greater glory of the Third Reich. When I refused, he reminded me that even though I had lost my dear wife I still had a daughter to care for, and that it would be a tragedy if anything were to happen to her."

"They have Marie?" Involuntarily, Suzanne's hand went to her throat at the thought of the pretty, bright young girl she remembered so well.

"They have not harmed her," said Dubois, "As long as I continue to work for them, she will be safe."

"Is she here?"

"No. They have her at a house in the town. I am allowed to visit her every so often, so I know she is well. I have tried many times to convince her to look for a chance to escape, but she will not go without me. Nor I without her." He raised his chin, as though expecting Suzanne to argue with him.

She had no such intention. It occurred to her to wonder whether the escape Walther was trying to organise for her might be extended to include the professor and his daughter, although if Marie was being held elsewhere it would be difficult. In any case, it was better not to say anything yet; better not to raise his hopes; better not to confide her own, and risk another betrayal. She was almost sure he could be trusted, but since her capture,_ almost_ was no longer enough.

On the other hand, she could see no harm in probing for a little more information: "Would it be very difficult for you to escape, if it were not for Marie?"

Dubois frowned slightly, just as he always did when considering a complex formula. "Until a few days ago, it would not have been impossible. They have been more concerned with preventing saboteurs from getting in than with preventing anyone from getting out. However, I'm afraid your arrival has made a difference. There were no guards in the laboratory last week. Now anyone who tries to leave without permission risks being shot on sight."

He sent her a keen, searching look, as though about to commence an impromptu _viva voce_; but it seemed he, too, had learned discretion. Instead, he gestured towards the folder on the table. "It would be prudent for you to become familiar with Kroehl's experiments. You will have no difficulty understanding what is going on here."

Suzanne's lips twitched. "I think I already understand a good deal."

"Yes, you were always exceptionally good at observation and interpretation." His countenance softened into a rueful smile. "Do you remember the laboratory accident in your second year, when that foolish boy Lenoir generated a thermite reaction? Even while the building was still blazing, with everyone else milling around in confusion, you came running to me, so excited because you had worked out the exact chemical formula simply from observing the nature of the reaction. That was what made you stand out from the other students. You always had to know the answer, but you never asked, you went ahead and found it yourself. It did not surprise me to see you rise to the heights."

"And look where it has brought me." Suzanne sat down, clasping her hands together on top of the table.

Dubois hesitated before he laid a hand on her shoulder. "My dear child…"

He stepped back abruptly, as the door opened and the Kommandant's aide entered. Müller took in the situation at a glance, interpreted it according to his own standards, and gave a tight, cynical smile. "Professor Dubois, " he said in his own language, "as Dr Lechay claims not to understand any German, please inform her that _Oberführer_ Scharf sends his compliments, and he would be pleased if both of you would join him and Dr Kroehl in his private dining room for lunch in ten minutes."

Dubois bowed his head slightly, so only Suzanne could see how his lips were quivering. "I will make sure she understands." Then, as soon as Müller had left the room, he sent her a would-be stern glare. "You are playing a dangerous game, _ma petite_."

"As are you, _mon prof_." Suzanne's resolve wavered. Surely if there was anyone left who deserved her trust…

"Excuse me." Major Walther's voice cut across her moment of indecision. He must have been just behind Müller, for here he was, standing in the open doorway, regarding the two scientists with a kind of cool detachment which somehow seemed more pointed than Müller's smirk. Suzanne felt the colour rising in her cheeks, and Dubois stepped back, tugging at the cuffs of his lab coat as if trying to straighten the sleeves.

If Walther perceived their discomfiture, he showed no sign, addressing Suzanne with his usual impassiveness: "After your morning in the laboratory, I am sure you would like to freshen up before sitting down to a meal. As there is apparently no separate washroom for female staff, I will escort you to your own quarters, and then accompany you to the Kommandant's private dining room. You will excuse us, Professor Dubois."

"Of course," replied Dubois, subdued and slightly distant. Without looking at Suzanne again, he closed the file and returned it to its place on the shelf. She lingered for a moment, caught on a sudden desire to tell him the truth about this particular German officer. But she pushed the impulse aside, hating herself for doubting him; and with Walther in attendance, she left the room.

The professor's remark about increased security came back to her on the way to the accommodation wing. One of the guards followed them out of the laboratory, watching them till they reached the stairs, a pair of them stood on watch on the ground floor, and they found yet another patrolling the upstairs gallery. It seemed there would be no chance of private conversation, and Suzanne pressed her lips together, trying to hide her impatience.

"I must talk to you," she murmured, as Walther unlocked the door of her chamber.

"Not while the guard is around." He fumbled with the key, giving himself a few extra seconds to come up with a plan. Then he turned to her, and spoke under his breath: "Follow my lead."

He pushed the door open. "Make haste, madame," he said, his usual calm overlaid with an uncharacteristic veneer of irritation. "We are expected at the Kommandant's table in five minutes, so you will please refrain from your usual half-hour and more of primping."

"Indeed?" Suzanne met his reprimand with fiery scorn. "You would have me sit down to a meal with the smell of the laboratory about me? With my hair in disorder and who knows what chemicals on my hands? No, I say I will not. I will be ready when I am ready, and the Kommandant must wait."

Walther didn't budge. "Five minutes. And do not even think of closing the door."

She glowered, and swept past him.

As she washed her hands, she could hear him addressing the guard: "I have never known a more obstinate, contrary woman. She will deliberately take as long as she can, out of pure spite. It is to be hoped your Kommandant is not a stickler for punctuality at meal times."

He had adopted a civil, approachable manner, and the guard responded in kind: "He can be a little impatient, _Herr Major_."

"I understand. If only I had thought to let him know we might be late. Well, this can be remedied. Please go and inform him we will be delayed by no more than a few minutes."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_."

The sound of the SS man's boots on the stairs faded away. Suzanne dried her hands, and went to the door.

"I have news," said Walther. "The local underground group have agreed to help us. One of their people is on the Kommandant's domestic staff. He cannot risk his cover by giving any direct help, but if we can find some way for you to slip away without being caught, he will take you to a safe house."

"It will not be easy. There are guards everywhere. According to Professor Dubois, there has been an increase in security."

"Perhaps you should not be too quick to take him at his word. I have some concerns regarding Dubois, and his situation here." Walther's voice remained steady, but Suzanne detected the faint note of reservation, and instantly the misgivings clouding her own view broke apart and vanished. Of course she could trust Dubois, and not just because he was an old friend. She had observed his contributions to this project, and determined his part to her complete satisfaction. What further evidence could she possibly need?

"He is not working for them by choice," she said. "They have his daughter. Not here, but somewhere nearby. You know what it would mean for her, if he refused to co-operate."

"Willing or not, he is still helping the Nazi war effort."

"No. If he meant to help them, he would have told them the current line of research will never produce any practical results. He would have helped them to improve their method, and they would be very much closer to achieving their goal. Instead, he has let them go on wasting their time on Kroehl's worthless process. If anything, he is hindering their progress." She paused, trying to read Walther's thoughts, but as always his expression gave nothing away. "Is there any chance of including him in our plans?"

"If you are right, then I think we must consider it," said Walther. "As long as he is in their hands there is a risk they will apply further pressure to force him into collaborating."

"Do you think we can help him? And Marie?"

"The daughter? Highly unlikely, if they are holding her at another location."

"He will not go without her."

"Then he must be persuaded."

Suzanne bit back her first instinctive response; then, on meeting the major's cool, seemingly indifferent gaze, she let herself go. "He will not. And if you mean to compel him to abandon his child, then you will also have to deal with me."

The reappearance of the SS guard on the stairs, returning from his errand, allowed the last word to rest with her, for now. But as she retreated to the washstand to finish her quick ablution, she found her hands were shaking, and not from fear.

Her best chance of escape from the Nazis lay with Walther, and in every other respect she was prepared to follow his orders to the letter. But if he thought she would give him free rein to force Dubois into going along, leaving his daughter to her fate, he would soon learn he was very much mistaken.

* * *

_Note: The "Merbecke process" is fictional, but is based on the acetone-butanol-ethanol fermentation process for converting plant starch to biofuel._


	3. Chapter 3

Even if Suzanne hadn't already been in a prickly mood, the décor of the Kommandant's private dining room would have found no favour in her eyes. The walls were half-panelled in dark timber, above which were mounted dozens of pairs of deer antlers lined up as if on parade, along with an array of antique rifles, hunting horns and even a few crossbows. More antlers had been arranged into a spiky chandelier which hung in the centre of the ceiling, directly over the highly polished refectory-style table.

It did not surprise her to find such a man taking his meals in a _Saal _dedicated to the tools and trophies of killing.

He was standing by the window in conversation with Kroehl, with Professor Dubois keeping himself at a distance, when she and her escort arrived. Walther murmured a brief apology, to which Scharf responded in chilly tones: "I trust Dr Lechay will take the trouble, now that she is working with us, to learn the value of punctuality. If you please, Madame…"

Although he spoke in German, he made his meaning clear by drawing out one of the chairs from the table, sparing her the need to pretend she didn't understand. Silently, she accepted the offered seat, and Scharf, after nodding to the attendant waiting unobtrusively at the far end of the room, took his place at the head of the table, with Suzanne between him and Walther, and Kroehl and Dubois on the other side.

"So, Major," said Scharf, "have you been able to contact your superior – what was his name?"

"General von Greifen, sir. I spoke to his aide, who has undertaken to send a message to the general's headquarters in Tripoli. The general himself is at the front line, but I have no doubt he will respond as soon as he is able."

"These inter-service matters are very tiresome," Scharf went on. "Always complicated by rules and procedures, and endless arguments over precedence. A little co-operation from the traditional branches of the _Wehrmacht _would do much to advance the war effort. Don't you agree?"

"With respect, _Herr Oberführer_," replied Walther dryly, "whether I agree or not is immaterial. It is not the business of soldiers to question the protocols observed by their senior officers."

Scharf's expression darkened, but after a moment he passed it over. "You are quite right, Major. Let us talk instead of that which is our business. Doctor Kroehl, I trust our new colleague is finding her place?"

Kroehl had been carefully and precisely rearranging his cutlery, his fat cheeks glowing in eager anticipation of the approaching meal. He beamed in response to Scharf's question. "Yes, indeed. Dr Lechay has already shown a remarkable understanding of our research. Once she has had a chance to settle in, I believe she will be a valuable addition to our team."

"Very good. But do not allow her to work unsupervised. For now, we cannot take her willing collaboration for granted."

"Of course, that goes without saying. You may be assured, _Herr Oberführer_, I will keep a close watch on Dr Lechay at all times."

Kroehl's complacent assertion earned a sideways glance from Dubois which almost overset Suzanne's gravity. She clasped her hands very tightly in her lap, wondering how long she could keep her contempt for this ridiculous creature under control.

"No doubt she has many questions about the project," said Scharf. "Please do not allow my presence to discourage you from answering them in a language she understands."

The waiter came back, pushing a service trolley on which stood an ornate porcelain tureen. He brought it to the table and raised the lid, releasing a subtle odour of _bouillon_ and herbs. Suzanne hadn't eaten since the previous evening; and the smell woke her to the realisation of how very hungry she was.

"Madame, I believe Dr Kroehl is speaking to you." Major Walther's voice, a little sharper than usual, recalled her to her company.

"I beg your pardon," she murmured.

"There is no need to apologise, Dr Lechay," replied Kroehl, somewhat patronisingly. "I merely asked whether there are any questions you would like to raise in regard to our work."

Suzanne pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the emptiness in her stomach. She couldn't let this opportunity slip past; any information she could gather now might be of use to the Allies, should she ever get the chance to pass it on. "I have no questions at the moment about the specifics of this project," she said at last. "But there is something about the overall objective which puzzles me."

To all appearances, Walther's attention was on his own meal, but Suzanne knew from experience how little escaped his notice. He might not approve of this kind of probing. Too bad for him if he didn't. Taking advantage of the situation, she went on: "It seems to me that your research is primarily concerned with developing a process to convert grain starch into a viable synthetic fuel."

She paused to allow the waiter to place a bowl of soup before her. At such close range, the aroma threatened to take all her senses hostage, and she had to call on every scrap of willpower to break free. She gripped her napkin tightly, took a couple of deep, steady breaths, and pursued her research. "Germany is already at the forefront of fuel synthesis from coal and other mineral sources, the supply of which has been secured by the expansion of your territories."

"Indeed it has," said Kroehl.

"That being the case, why should you need to put so much effort into the search for an alternative?"

Kroehl had just taken a mouthful of soup, and after a moment Dubois answered for him, in a dry, precise tone: "The diversion of coal to fuel production means less is available for other purposes. An efficient method of synthesising fuel from non-mineral sources would increase the supply of coal to industries which are of great importance to the German war effort."

"Of course. But to produce a crop-based alternative in sufficient quantities to make a difference would require an enormous and continuous supply of raw material. A great deal of agricultural land would have to be dedicated to fuel production. Would this not result in food shortages for the German people?"

"Oh, no, madame," said Kroehl. "There will be plenty of land available, once our armies in the East have completed their campaign. And if the Russian peasants starve..." He shrugged, and went on with his meal.

Suzanne had lost her appetite. She had thought she knew the worst of these monsters, but this casual brutality evoked a level of outrage she had never before experienced; and she felt an almost irresistible urge to demonstrate her loathing for this fat, self-satisfied creature, happily slurping his broth, by flinging her own share at his head.

Walther's voice broke in on her silence: "Dr Lechay, do not let your soup go cold."

The reminder brought her back to a state of precarious equilibrium. In the earliest days of their acquaintance, even before he had completely gained her trust, he had managed to convince her of the need to maintain her strength. Her regular meals here were unlikely to be as good as this; she had better make the most of the chance. Besides, she had a feeling Scharf was taking the opportunity to observe her more closely than was desirable. It was probably time to keep quiet, and attend to her need of sustenance, allowing Walther to turn the conversation with a comment to Scharf about the excellent quality of his dry white wine.

The soup was followed by an escalope of pork, served with mushroom sauce and dumplings. Suzanne picked at it with an air of bored resignation, as though the polite small talk between the officers, in their own tongue, was incomprehensible to her. Dubois showed no interest in taking part, and Kroehl had little attention to spare for anything but his _Schnitzel_. Apparently Scharf was accustomed to this, and waited until his chief chemist was less distracted before speaking to him: "By the way, Kroehl, I have been advised that our superiors in Berlin are sending an inspection party to look at our work. They will require a detailed progress report, and I trust you will have more to show them than on previous occasions."

Kroehl laid down his knife and fork and dabbed at his lips with his napkin before responding: "Well, we are always ready for inspection, _Herr Oberführer_."

"Good. They will be here on Friday. Naturally, Professor Dubois will be on hand to assist you."

Dubois, looking more uncomfortable than ever, ventured on a mild objection: "I beg your pardon, sir, but you gave me leave to visit my daughter on Friday."

"I remember," replied Scharf. "That will have to be postponed."

"I have not seen her for almost seven weeks."

"You should be grateful for being allowed to see her at all."

Dubois went red, while Suzanne covertly sent a smouldering look at the Kommandant from under her lowered eyelids. But _le prof_ was not yet completely subdued, although it was obvious he found the situation both painful and humiliating. Gathering his courage, he offered one last plea: "Friday is the anniversary of the day we lost her mother. It would be a great comfort for us to spend the day together."

"Professor, I have already given you an answer. Kindly refrain from any further argument." An icy glare accompanied the rebuke, and Dubois fell silent.

An awkward silence ensued, until Kroehl piped up: "Actually, I believe we could manage without Professor Dubois. I am sure his place could be filled by our charming new colleague."

"Do you think so?" Scharf regarded Suzanne with a calculating gleam in his eye. "Well, why not? Once she has made a first step along the path of collaboration, it will be easy enough to make sure she continues. Very well, Dubois. If Dr Lechay will take your place here, then you may go to see your daughter as requested."

Dubois sent one despairing look at Suzanne, then capitulated. "I am at your disposal, Kommandant."

"No. Marie should not be alone at such a time. You must go. I will assist Dr Kroehl during the inspection."

At the interruption, spoken clearly and with resolve, a startled silence fell across the table, broken after a few seconds by a low-pitched exclamation from Dubois: "_Mais non, Suzanne._"

"_Mais si_." She gave him a rueful smile.

"My compliments, _Herr Oberführer_," said Walther in a matter-of-fact tone. "I have been trying for months to get Dr Lechay to admit that she understands German. You have succeeded in less than a day."

If Scharf was surprised at this development, he was quick to hide it behind a mask of complacency. "I knew all along that she knew more of our language than she was prepared to admit. All it needed was the right psychological approach."

"But Dr Lechay has been here only a few hours," Dubois broke out. "You cannot ask her to..."

"I am not asking, I am ordering. You forget yourself, Dubois. Dr Lechay will prove her willingness to co-operate with us by assisting Dr Kroehl on Friday. That is my final word on the matter."

Dubois's hand clenched on his napkin till the knuckles turned white; but any idea he had of defying Scharf's "final word" was forestalled by a softly-spoken word of warning from Suzanne: "_Prof..._" It was enough; slowly, he relaxed, and the dangerous moment passed.

"Excuse me, _Herr Oberführer_." Müller, the Kommandant's aide, had entered the _Saal_ unnoticed, waiting for a break in the conversation before drawing attention to his presence. "_Gruppenführer_ Schmidt is on the telephone, requesting an update on the synthetic fuel project. He has a meeting this afternoon with the Minister of War Production. He asked to speak to you in person."

Scharf sighed, and stood up. "You must excuse me, gentlemen – Madame. As we have finished our meal, I suggest you and your colleagues forego coffee, and return to work." He bowed, and left the room with Müller at his heels.

"Yes, indeed, it is time to get on," said Kroehl, heaving himself upright. "Dubois, take Dr Lechay back to the laboratory, and start on the analysis of the latest batch. I will join you there presently, after I have had a little quiet thinking time."

Suzanne waited until he had gone before she tilted her head at Dubois. "Thinking time?"

"Afternoon nap," murmured Dubois shortly.

Walther glanced at him, then turned a cool, critical eye towards Suzanne. "You have your instructions, Madame. It would be prudent to attend to them at once. I am sure Professor Dubois can be trusted to escort you back to the laboratory. I will call in on you presently, and I expect to find you engaged on the work you were brought here for."

Dubois bridled at his tone, and seemed about to utter one of his rare, fierce rebukes; but Suzanne managed to catch his eye, and shook her head slightly, although her own irritation was rising high. Only the presence of the waiter, who was standing by until he could clear the table, prevented her from bringing this whole ridiculous farce to an end with a few well-chosen words.

"Naturally I am only too anxious to do what is expected of me," she said. "Come, _mon prof_." She took the professor firmly by the arm, and drew him out of the room.

"The impudence of the man, to speak to you like that," muttered Dubois under his breath as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Hush! Not here." Suzanne moved a little closer to him, keeping her distance from the guard on duty in the corridor.

With an effort, Dubois restrained himself from further comment until they reached the laboratory. But once they reached the relative privacy of the little archive room, he let himself go, wringing his hands and striding back and forth in his agitation. "I will not allow this. I will not see you made to work for these – these criminals. You must escape – yes, you must. There has to be some way."

She caught his hands, bringing him to a standstill. "I beg you, do not distress yourself. Stay calm."

"How can I possibly stay calm, as long as you are in their hands? Either they will force you to co-operate, which is unthinkable, or...no, I cannot even consider what they will do if you refuse." He freed himself from her grasp and resumed his pacing.

"It will not come to that."

He came to a halt and stared at her. "What are you up to? I know there is something, I can see it in your face. You have some plan?"

"Perhaps. I don't know yet."

"If you have a chance...but how?" Dubois ran one hand across his brow. "Even if you could get past the guards, there is still your own particular watchdog."

"You do not understand. If I ever succeed in escaping, it will be my watchdog, as you call him, who..."

Abruptly, Suzanne broke off; but she had already said enough. Dubois's brow furrowed as he considered this new data. "He is...?"

"He is not all he seems," said Suzanne, after a pause.

Dubois gave her a sharp, searching glance, but then his eyes turned towards the door. Suzanne followed his gaze, and felt her face burning with embarrassment.

"It was time he knew," she said defiantly, dropping into English.

Although Walther showed no outward sign of annoyance, it seemed as though his reply had an edge to it. "I suppose there is little point now in suggesting that we proceed with caution. Since you are convinced Professor Dubois will not join you in your escape unless we are able to free his daughter, which we cannot do, I would have preferred to keep him out of the matter entirely."

"He will not betray us."

"Perhaps not. But once they discover you are gone, he will fall under immediate suspicion. If he is to remain behind, then for his own safety it would have been better if he knew nothing about it."

As usual, he was right. Suzanne held back her instinctive retort, and looked at Dubois, who seemed unsure whether to be astonished or outraged. "Is this true, Suzanne? You will place your life in the hands of this - this..."

Fortunately, his vocabulary failed him, allowing Suzanne to put in a few words: "He is no Nazi. You must believe me, he is opposed to everything they stand for, and is prepared to do everything he can to fight against them."

The professor studied Walther's impassive countenance. "I must think about this," he murmured at length.

Walther shook his head. "Better if you forget it. Or agree to go with Dr Lechay."

"And leave Marie in their hands? Never!" Dubois hesitated, then went on in a more subdued tone. "I give you my word, they will gain nothing from me. I will stall until my daughter is safe, no matter how long it takes. But Suzanne cannot wait. She must escape, as soon as possible. If there is anything I can do to help..."

"No," said Suzanne. "Is it not enough that I should even think of leaving you here? You must not be involved."

"My dear child, I am already involved." Dubois touched her shoulder very gently. "Surely you know how valuable you could be to them. Me, I am a capable chemist, but you are brilliant. If anyone in the world can succeed in creating the synthetic fuel process they need, it is you. I will not stand by and see you forced to help them, or punished for refusing. No matter what it costs, you have to escape, and I have a duty as a loyal Frenchman, and as your friend, to help you."

Leaving her to think it over, he turned to Walther, doing his best to hide his lingering doubts. "How do you plan to get out of the building without the guards seeing you?"

"I don't. I have arranged for someone else to handle that side of things. My role will be to stay behind and do whatever I can to cover the escape." Walther's eyebrows drew in. "As for the guards, they will have to be distracted somehow."

"That will not be easy. There are so many of them," said Dubois. "It would need a very large distraction...an accident in the laboratory, perhaps? If the equipment should become faulty, it might cause an explosion."

"Too dangerous," replied Walther. "Either of you might be there when it happened. It would be impossible to keep clear of the area without arousing suspicion. I am not prepared to risk Dr Lechay's life, at least, not more than is necessary." He paused, apparently aware of Dubois's chagrin, and went on in a milder tone: "Something of the kind might be very effective, and would have the advantage of completely disrupting the synthetic fuel project. But it would need to start somewhere other than the laboratory."

"And it must be something for which Professor Dubois cannot be blamed," Suzanne put in. If she could help him in no other way, she would at least insist on this. "For Marie's sake as well as his own, he must be above suspicion."

She pressed her fingertips together, struck with a thought which almost took her breath away, so simple and yet so daring did it seem. "Did you speak to your Underground contact?" she asked suddenly.

"Only briefly," replied Walther, watching her with a degree of curiosity. "We were interrupted by the Kommandant's adjutant, who seems to be taking a little too much interest in my activities."

The nerves just below her skin had started tingling, as always when some sudden stroke of inspiration came to her. She turned to Dubois with a question: "You told me the Germans are storing by-products of the process somewhere near the laboratory, no?"

"Yes, in one of the old kitchen cellars, next to the staff washroom. Barrels of acetone and ethanol. Highly volatile, very dangerous." His eyes brightened, as he began to see where her train of thought was leading.

"If I could get to them..."

"You could not," interrupted Walther. "Not without attracting unwanted attention. The guards are watching your every move. In any case, even if you were able to start a fire there, how would you escape? The whole purpose of the plan is to get you out alive."

"There is a way to do it with minimum risk," observed Dubois. "All we would need would be a few simple items, which I am sure you can provide, Major. Nevertheless, you are right. Suzanne cannot do it. But I can, and I will." He straightened his shoulders, and held up one finger to quell Suzanne's instinctive protest.

"And if they suspect you of being the saboteur?" said Walther, regarding him keenly, but with the hint of a smile around his lips.

The light of battle was in Dubois's eye. "They will not. Thanks to Kommandant Scharf, I will have a perfect alibi which will be confirmed by a dozen of his own men. By the time it happens, I will be twenty miles away, visiting my daughter, just as he ordered."

A long silence followed, as Walther considered the suggestion. Suzanne realised she was hardly breathing as she waited, torn between hope and apprehension. But she knew, even before he spoke, what his answer would be: "Very well, Professor. Tell me what you need, and I will see what I can do."


	4. Chapter 4

Dr Kroehl might boast of being _always ready for inspection;_ but he still set his staff to work, under Dubois's supervision, to make sure they were even readier. By Friday morning, the laboratory had been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom; the workbenches had been scrubbed down, the dust swept from the ceiling, and the exteriors of the big fermentation tanks treated with a patented metal polish which left a faint, persistent smell of kerosene.

"So, as well as being an excellent cleaning material, it might also help the fire to spread. I wonder if the makers of this product know how versatile it is."

Suzanne, standing demurely to one side while Kroehl made his rounds, bit her lower lip to keep it from twitching. Had Walther really just made a joke? His expression, as calm as ever, gave nothing away.

If Dubois had noticed, he was too focussed on the task before him to allow himself to be distracted. "Did you get the items I need?"

"Yes. Hans, our contact on the domestic staff, provided them. I have hidden them in the washroom, behind one of the hand-basins. A candle, matches, and an ice pick. I trust it will serve the purpose."

Dubois pursed his lips. "Yes, I believe it will do well enough."

"Hans has been very helpful," Walther went on. "As soon as the guards and staff are fully occupied, he will take you out through the kitchen, Doctor Lechay. He has arranged for some of his Underground colleagues to meet you outside and take you to a safe house. Fortunately there is a heavy fog today, which will make it easier for you to leave unseen. But everything depends on the diversion. Professor, how long will it take for…"

He broke off abruptly. Kroehl, having satisfied himself that there was not so much as a speck of dirt on the distillation apparatus, was now approaching.

"Very good, Dubois," he said in a patronising tone. "I knew I could rely on you."

Dubois gave a little bow. "Thank you, Doctor Kroehl. May I be allowed to go off duty now? I need to tidy up before I leave for town."

"By all means." Kroehl waved him away, and turned towards Suzanne. "Doctor Lechay, I hope you understand how important it is that today's presentation goes well. The government and the high command are impatient for results, so if our work is to receive further support and finance from Berlin, it is vital that our visitors give us a favourable report."

Suzanne fixed her gaze on him, resolutely ignoring Dubois as he disappeared in the direction of the washroom, and the storage area where the barrels of acetone were waiting for him. "I think it is safe to say, _monsieur_,your superiors will be astonished at what they see here today."

His round, childish face expanded into a beaming smile. "Madame, I can see our partnership is going to be a great success. Major Walther, you are most welcome to stay for the demonstration if you wish."

"With pleasure, sir. I'm sure I will find it quite illuminating," replied Walther in a tone of polite interest; and once again, Suzanne had some difficulty maintaining her gravity.

"Indeed. You know, Major, it's very refreshing to meet a military man who understands the methodology of scientific research," remarked Kroehl. "So different to dealing with our esteemed _Oberführer_. Of course, he's a very fine officer, but intellectually he's not really - Yes, what is it, Müller?" He finished on a constrained note, belatedly realising the esteemed _Oberführer_'s aide had come in unobserved, and had heard every word.

"A message from the Kommandant, _Herr Doktor_. The inspection party from Berlin will be here shortly. Make sure your staff are assembled to greet them when they arrive. Is everything in order here?"

Kroehl swelled up into a ball of pompous indignation. "Of course it is. Why would you even ask such an impertinent question?"

"It is _Oberführer_ Scharf who asks," replied Müller.

"I see. Well, you may inform him that he can safely leave the running of the laboratory to me."

"Or to Professor Dubois. But not today." Müller looked past Kroehl, towards Suzanne and Walther. "The escort detail is waiting for him. Where is he?"

Since Kroehl appeared ready to burst with rage, Walther intervened: "He has gone to the washroom. He needed to freshen up after helping to prepare for the inspection."

"He should have been ready by now," said Müller, his eyes scanning the laboratory. "There cannot have been so much preparation needed, since Doctor Kroehl runs the laboratory so efficiently."

The glare Kroehl had turned on him ought to have generated an instant corrosive reaction, but to Suzanne's disappointment it produced no significant result; and after a few seconds the scientist gave voice to a peevish grunt. "I need to compose myself. I will be back in a few minutes."

As he lumbered away, Walther set about distracting Müller with an apparently innocent question: "Will the Kommandant be in attendance during the inspection?"

"The Kommandant is only interested in results," replied Müller. "How they are obtained is no concern of his."

"Of course. However, Doctor Kroehl has been kind enough to invite me to observe. Would _Oberführer_ Scharf have any objection?"

Müller's eyes narrowed. "I do not think he will forbid it, as long as he can be assured of your complete discretion. I doubt you will learn much from it."

"I do not expect to learn anything, but I did not wish to cause offence by declining."

A brief, cynical smile flickered across Müller's face. "Professor Dubois has been gone for some time. I should go and find him."

Suzanne glanced around, furtively seeking some way to delay him and give Dubois a few extra moments. But even as Müller started across the laboratory, the professor appeared, very neat and smartly groomed and carrying his overcoat and hat. He peered at Müller with a vaguely irritable air: "Yes, what do you want?"

"Your transport to town is waiting," said Müller. "Are you ready, or have you decided not to go?"

"As usual, your manner is quite offensive, Müller. May I assume we are once again to have the doubtful pleasure of your company?"

Apparently his remark touched on some history unknown to Suzanne, as Müller went dark red. "No, I am required here. Please convey my apologies to Fräulein Marie."

"Indeed." Dubois stared him down for a moment, then turned away. "I will be with you directly. Suzanne..." His voice faltered, but he pulled himself together almost at once. "Marie will be sorry not to see you. She always looked up to you."

The little break in his voice was almost too much for Suzanne's composure; but she answered as lightly as she could. "Next time, perhaps the Kommandant might allow me to come with you."

"Perhaps, if you have shown yourself sufficiently helpful," Müller put in. "Professor, if you please..."

"Yes, I should go. Suzanne, I will return tomorrow morning. Until then, please do whatever is needed to make sure the inspection goes according to plan." Dubois took both of Suzanne's hands in his own, gazing into her eyes with particular intensity.

Müller was watching them. At all costs he must not suspect how Suzanne's heart ached at this parting. Quickly, as if it didn't matter too much, she gave her old friend a kiss on the cheek. "For Marie, with my love. Tell her I hope to see her soon. _Á demain, prof._"

His grip tightened momentarily, then he let her go and walked away with Müller in attendance. Suzanne's gaze followed him out of sight.

"What will they do to him when they find out what he has done?" she said.

"You are upset about leaving him," observed Walther. "But it was you who persuaded me he should be allowed to stay. You must not allow emotion to distract you now. He has risked a great deal to give you this chance, and he expects you to take it. If he should fall under suspicion, I will do what I can to shield him, and I will make every effort to find some way for him – for both of them - to escape."

He gave her a few moments to regain her composure before he went on in a businesslike tone: "We were interrupted before Dubois had a chance to finish his explanations. How long will we have before the diversion takes place?"

For a man of such keen intelligence, he was occasionally surprisingly ignorant. Briefly, Suzanne considered whether she should give him an overview of the many variables which came into play in this situation: how ignition would not take place until the concentration of flammable vapour in the air of the storage room reached the critical level, and the various factors which would influence the length of time required for this to take place: how quickly the volatile substances could escape from their barrels (a matter subject to the number and size of the holes Dubois, armed only with an ice pick, had been able to punch through the metal sides of the drums); the rate of evaporation, the actual cubic capacity of the store-room and whether it could be made sufficiently airtight to prevent the volatiles from dispersing. And it would all be for nothing, if the candle Dubois had left burning somewhere in the room went out before optimum conditions were reached...

No, better not. This was not a suitable occasion for an impromptu lecture on the properties of combustible substances. "Impossible to say. There are too many variables."

"So it might happen at any time, or it might not happen at all?"

But Suzanne, remembering the gleam in the professor's eye, knew better. "You may be sure of a result from any process he has set in motion. It will happen, in due course."

"Then we must expect it, whenever it comes."

He did not sound annoyed, and she smiled. "Patient observation is a necessary attribute for working in the practical sciences, just as it is for you, in your work."

Their eyes met in a moment of mutual understanding; then Walther looked past her. "Be on your guard, madame," he murmured, "and stay close."

The reason for his warning was immediately made apparent, at the sound of Scharf's voice: "I can assure you, Professor Altmann, you will be pleased with how our work is progressing. You are aware, of course, that Henri Dubois is on our staff, but I don't know if you have been advised that Doctor Suzanne Lechay has joined us as well."

"So I have heard." The visitor sounded ill-tempered, and as Suzanne turned to meet him, she saw nothing to dispel the impression. Altmann had the heavy, disgruntled appearance of a man afflicted with a minor chronic ailment; something in the nature of dyspepsia, or possibly nasal congestion.

He regarded Suzanne with a marked lack of cordiality. "I have no great opinion of female scientists. It remains to be seen whether she will be useful. Where is Doctor Kroehl?"

"Professor Altmann!" Kroehl came hurrying in, very flushed and a little flustered. "I am sorry to keep you waiting. I was just attending to some last-minute - I mean, may I say what an honour it is..."

Without the slightest hesitation, Altmann cut him off. "I hope you have some results. So far, you have used up a lot of resources, with nothing to show for it."

"_Herr Professor_, you know as well as anyone the challenges of our work. Research, testing, analysis, it all takes time. But I have recently had some new insights - you might even call them revelations, and I feel I am on the brink of..."

"I will judge for myself. Who is this?" Altmann's gaze turned towards Walther, who was observing the exchange without apparent emotion.

"My name is Walther, sir. I was attached to Doctor Lechay's previous assignment, and accompanied her here."

Altmann digested the information, then shrugged. "Very well. Let us proceed, Kroehl. _Herr Oberführer_, we will not take up any more of your time, but I will speak to you again before I leave."

"Of course, sir. You will find me in the office when you are ready." With a perfunctory bow to the visitor, Scharf departed.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed, then Kroehl cleared his throat. "Well, Professor Altmann, I thought we would start with a review of our research into the Merbecke process. I don't wish to boast, but thanks to the improvements I have made, we are now achieving some excellent results."

"According to my information, it is Dubois who is the expert in that line of investigation," said Altmann flatly.

Kroehl gave an uneasy laugh. "Dubois? He is a very fine scientist, but here he is just a technician. I come up with the ideas, he tests them."

"Hardly the best use of a man of his reputation," grunted Altmann. "As for your results, we will see how good they are. Lead the way."

He was clearly in no mood to be pleased; and the tour of the laboratory which followed did nothing to change his attitude. Under other circumstances Suzanne would have found it amusing, watching Kroehl's fawning, puppyish attempts to win favour, and the crushing snubs with which they were met. As it was, she had to call on a level of self-discipline she had hardly known she possessed to follow decorously in Kroehl's wake, without giving the slightest sign of how taut her nerves were.

At any moment, a mass of fire would erupt from the store-room, only a few yards away. She must be ready for it, no matter how long it took. So focussed was she on this imperative, that when at last the heavy dull thud of an explosion reverberated through the laboratory, her heart leapt as if she'd received an electric shock.

Altmann, puzzled but not yet alarmed, peered around. "What was that?"

"Uh...nothing, _Herr Professor_. Probably just...perhaps the generators..." Kroehl gestured to one of his underlings, who hurried away to investigate. "Some of the plant is a little temperamental...Shall we go on?"

"I think we had better," grumbled Altmann. "I see no reason to spend any longer on this inspection than..."

"_Feuer! Feuer!_"

For a few seconds, as the shriek of panic echoed in the corridor, an unnatural stillness fell over the laboratory. Then Altmann uttered a testy growl. "This will not look good on your report, Kroehl."

A couple of the SS men raced out, while Kroehl tittered nervously: "Oh...ah...I'm sure it's not as bad as... You know, in a busy laboratory, sometimes these little accidents..."

"There is a fire in the store-room! Everyone out, now!" A bellow from one of the guards instantly shattered any illusions of the situation being under control. These brutes were not easily frightened. Dubois, reliable as always, had done his job well.

Walther gripped Suzanne's arm. "You heard him, Kroehl," he snapped. "Get your people out of here. Quickly! You men there, get the fire equipment, and sound the alarm."

The assistants were already running for the exit. Altmann rolled his eyes, and strode after them, and Kroehl, after one desperate look around his laboratory, took off at an ungainly but surprisingly rapid waddle, leaving behind a departing plea: "Save the research notes!"

"We must go, Doctor Lechay," murmured Walther.

She did not need to be told. Nor did he need to make any attempt to escort her to safety; he couldn't have stopped her if he had tried.

The corridor outside had already reached an encouraging level of pandemonium, with the SS men running back and forth with fire extinguishers and hoses, their attempts to deal with the fire obstructed by the panicked flight of the laboratory staff. Walther drew Suzanne back against the wall to keep clear, and they edged their way towards the stairs. Just as they got there, the ear-splitting clamour of the alarm bell broke over them. Walther touched Suzanne's shoulder, and jerked his head towards the further passage. She couldn't hear a word he said, but it was easy enough to read his lips: "Go. Hans will be waiting."

He turned away, barking an incomprehensible order to the SS men; and Suzanne waited only long enough to be sure she was unobserved before she stole away.

A few yards along the corridor, a heavy oaken door stood barely ajar. Sure enough, the Kommandant's steward was waiting there, his nondescript middle-aged features showing little sign of tension. He opened the door just enough for Suzanne to slip through, then closed it firmly, reducing the din outside to a muffled ringing.

"This way," he whispered.

He set off at a quick, purposeful pace between the tall wooden racks, packed with dust-grimed bottles, which lined the grey stone walls of what was evidently the wine cellar. Overhead, the lights flickered. Suzanne had an unnerving feeling of the whole building shaking, before she realised with a curious sense of shame that the only trembling was that of her own limbs.

"_Courage, Suzanne_," she told herself fiercely, and hastened after her guide.

At the far end of the cellar, the curve of the roof contracted into a narrow, upwardly sloping passage. "Is that the way out?" asked Suzanne, her voice tight and short of breath.

"No. That way ends in a drainage ditch under the south wall. We must go up one level to reach the kitchen." Hans pointed to a flight of worn, shallow steps to the left. "From there, we go through the kitchen garden to meet our contact in the old orchard. May I suggest you take off your white coat, in order to be less visible? The fog is starting to lift."

Hastily, Suzanne removed the laboratory coat and gave it to him. He folded it over his arm, glancing uneasily behind them as though he sensed trouble. "Come quickly," he said. "We have not much time."

"How right you are. Your time is up."

Hans turned sharply towards the steps, stepping instinctively in front of Suzanne. "_Ach, du Scheiße_!" he muttered. Müller, the Kommandant's aide, was blocking their way out, pistol in hand. Although he must be aware of the fire raging close by, he seemed unconcerned by any sense of urgency as he came down the last few steps.

"So, you are a traitor after all, Hans," he said. "I should shoot you where you stand, but the Gestapo will want you both alive, at least for now."

Keeping his Luger squarely aimed, he came close enough to seize the white coat from Hans's grasp, and gave it a shake as if checking for hidden weapons. Then he gestured back in the direction of the passage by which Suzanne had fled only a few minutes ago, with a curt imperative: "Go."

Standing just behind him, Suzanne could feel Hans's muscles tensing, as though he was preparing to resist. She knew as well as he did what lay ahead if they went back as ordered, but getting shot was not an ideal alternative.

"We cannot," she said, with all the authority she could muster. "The fire has already made the corridor impassable."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Müller snapped; but his gaze flickered towards the danger zone.

Suzanne gave an impatient sigh. "Can you not smell it? The floor of the laboratory is covered with linoleum, which is flammable. Even if the flames have not reached the passage, the smoke would certainly choke all of us. We must find another way."

Not for nothing had she spent the last year deceiving her captors. The urgency in her voice carried conviction, and Müller wavered, staring at her. If he could be persuaded to leave by the kitchen stairs, perhaps there would be a chance...

His gaze suddenly shifted, and his face twisted into fury. Suzanne recoiled, and once again Hans moved in front of her. But the shot Müller fired was aimed past them. The report echoed from the vault, and echoed again; and before the resonance had played itself out, Müller dropped where he stood.

For a few moments, Suzanne felt as though her own heart had stopped beating. She gazed at the crumpled body on the floor; instinctively, she started to analyse; and even before she looked up, she had reached the right conclusion.

"You followed us," she said.

"Fortunately, I did." Walther, still holding the gun with which he had answered Müller's shot, came forward.

Hans was already checking the fallen man. "Dead," he reported. "A good shot, _Herr Major_ \- but you are hurt."

A slow ooze of blood on Walther's arm, a little above the elbow, showed where Müller's bullet had found his mark. He looked a little pale in the electric light, but he dismissed any concerns. "No more than a graze. Don't concern yourself. Your priority is to get Doctor Lechay to safety before she is missed - wait!" He looked back over his shoulder. "Get out of sight!"

On the word, Hans took Suzanne by the arm and pulled her into the space between two banks of wine-racks. Almost at once, she heard the pounding of boots on the floor, and she shrank into the shadows as three or four men hurtled past.

Walther called out to them, his voice unusually strained. "Over here!'

"What is it, _Herr Major_? We heard gunfire."

"Doctor Lechay has seized this chance to try to escape. She ran into the passageway there. She must be stopped."

"But, _Herr Major_ – you are wounded…"

"Never mind that. Leave Müller, he is beyond help. Go after the woman, and bring her back, before it is too late."

The SS men thudded away. Hans barely waited for the echoes of their departure to fade before drawing Suzanne out of their hiding place. "Are we safe?"

"Yes, but you must hurry." Walther was attempting to tie a handkerchief around his arm. He was not doing it well, and without asking Suzanne took over. Just as he had said, the wound was minor; it had shaken her more than him, to all appearances.

"And you?" she said. "Surely you do not mean to stay behind."

"I must. There is still work to be done, and with Müller dead, my cover is safe enough. Do not lose this chance. Go, and good luck to you."

Finishing the improvised bandage, she lingered briefly, her gaze fixed on his face. At this last moment, she found herself unable to speak.

"Madame," said Hans urgently.

She took a small step back, and raised her head. "Thank you, Major Walther. Thank you for everything. I will ask you to do one more thing. Please, if you can, stay safe."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and a fleeting smile passed between them. Then, without another backward glance, she fled.


	5. Chapter 5

Suzanne did not expect to see Major Walther again.

Even as she ran with Hans through the mist-shrouded orchard to make the rendezvous with the Underground, she felt a tightening in her throat each time the thought came to her. Not only had her old friend Dubois passed out of her life; so had the man who, against all possibility, had become her most trusted ally. The realisation acted as a moderant on her other emotions, keeping both fear and exhilaration in check, and when she finally found herself alone at the safe house, the few tears she could not help shedding were not just for Dubois.

But since her life, in the months after her escape, consisted almost entirely of dealing with the unexpected, it did not surprise her when eventually, in the improbable setting of the Hall of Roman Sculpture at the Stadtmuseum Weizenfeld, her path and Walther's crossed again.

If he was taken aback to encounter her taking the role of his new Underground contact, he hid it well. There even seemed to be a touch of amusement in his greeting: "I might have known you would abandon your escape from Germany as soon as you were out of my sight."

"It proved too difficult to arrange," Suzanne replied, as calmly as if they were discussing a day trip to the Bodensee. "So, as I must stay, I decided to make myself useful."

"I suppose it would be pointless to remind you that, as a fugitive from the Gestapo, you would be well advised not to go about the town in daylight."

"Nobody else was available at such short notice. Let me reassure you, my usual activities are far less dangerous than this. When I am not taking part in sabotage missions, I fill in my time by experimenting with the manufacture of explosive compounds out of common household materials. There is no reason for anxiety."

"Thank you. That certainly sets my mind at rest." His voice was as impassive as ever, but the small involuntary movements at the corners of his mouth told their own story. Suzanne could not keep from smiling. He had not changed.

"We are unlikely to be disturbed here," she said. "Very few people visit this part of the museum, so we may talk freely."

"I cannot blame them for staying away," observed Walther, his gaze resting briefly on an exceptionally ugly marble Minerva which stood in a nearby alcove, overseeing their meeting. Then he turned his attention to Suzanne, and the business of their meeting.

"I regret to tell you, I have not yet been able to identify the precise location of the new research facility. My enquiries lead me to believe it is in the Hammelburg area, probably to the south of the town. As soon as I have further information I will pass it on." Once again, his lips twitched. "The head of research is our old friend Professor Altmann. I have no news of Doctor Kroehl's current whereabouts. I am afraid his career may have taken a downward turn after the regrettable affair at his previous post."

"_Quel dommage_," murmured Suzanne. But Kroehl's fate was a matter of indifference to her. She was far more interested in how Walther had fared since their last meeting.

"I am glad to see you," she said impulsively. "So often I have wondered whether you were safe. It seemed impossible to me that you should not suffer the consequences of my escape."

"It was not as difficult as you might think, nor as interesting." Apparently Walther had had enough of Minerva's stern glare; he moved on to a cabinet of small, undistinguished household bronzes.

But Suzanne was not to be put off. "You have given me your message, and we have some time before either of us must leave. Please tell me what happened. Was there a Gestapo investigation?"

He regarded her with one eyebrow raised. "Very well, madame. The Gestapo attended, and many questions were asked. But I brought it to their notice how curious it was that you had remained safely in my charge for many months in France, and yet within days of moving to an SS facility in Germany, you were gone. The investigators found this very interesting, and as a result they directed their attention to Kommandant Scharf, or rather to his aide."

"Müller? Was he not dead?"

"Very much so. But death is no guarantee of innocence. It was established that you and Müller had disappeared from sight during the commotion caused by the fire, and that I had pursued you to the wine cellar, but lost you after the exchange of fire with Müller. From this information, it was easy enough to deduce that Müller was helping you to escape, and therefore that he was also responsible for the fire. So as far as the Gestapo are concerned the matter is closed."

It seemed clear enough; but there was one more question she had to ask: "They do not suspect _le prof_?"

Walther dismissed her concerns with a shrug. "Two squads of SS men confirmed Dubois was nowhere near the laboratory when the fire started. The possibility of his having engineered the disaster hours before it happened was never considered." He stood studying the bronzes for a moment, then went on towards one of the windows which looked out onto the street.

"You will be pleased to hear Dubois and his daughter are not currently in the hands of the SS," he said, as though it were incidental, and apparently unaware of the soft, involuntary exhalation which escaped her. After a moment he continued: "The Gestapo investigation uncovered some information regarding _Oberführer _Scharf's financial dealings, which led to his removal from his post. Because of this, and in view of the damage to the laboratory and the adverse inspection report from Professor Altmann, it was decided to discontinue the project. Dubois and his daughter have been placed in the custody of the army pending a new assignment. But it is a temporary measure, and there is some talk of employing his expertise at the new research facility at Hammelburg."

Her eyes opened wide with consternation. "But…but that would be a catastrophe. If he is involved in another laboratory disaster…"

"Stay calm, madame," said Walther. "I gave you my word, half a year ago, that I would make every effort to help Dubois and his daughter, and I mean to keep my word."

It was oddly comforting to hear the same cool, rational tone she remembered so well. She took a deep breath, and composed herself. "Do you have a plan?"

"Not exactly. The security under which they are being held has made it impossible for me to reach them. So I have placed the matter in the hands of Professor Altmann."

At this astonishing statement, Suzanne found herself speechless. Then she gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "You cannot be serious."

"Perfectly serious. In my efforts to find out all I can about the laboratory, I have become quite well acquainted with Altmann's army liaison officer, Captain Krug. One evening at the beer hall, he told me Altmann was interested in recruiting Dubois for his new project, and wanted to meet him at a secure location in order to observe his scientific methods. It occurred to me to suggest there could be no place more secure than a prisoner of war camp. As it happens, there is a Luftstalag in the Hammelburg area which will serve the purpose very well."

Suzanne's fingertips started to tingle. Everyone in the Underground knew about the camp near Hammelburg, and she had spent many hours wondering if she would ever have the good fortune to meet the American colonel who had established a successful operation in such unlikely surrounds.

"Krug thought this was a brilliant idea," Walther went on, "as did Altmann when he heard it. He has requested Dubois be moved to Stalag 13 as soon as possible, and provided with a laboratory to work in. Once he is there…well, I understand the prisoners are quite resourceful, and if anyone can help Dubois, they can. I only wish I could have done more to make certain of his safety."

"You have done so very much." Suzanne laid her hand on his arm. "Now you must allow someone else to take over. You understand, sometimes a new element is needed to produce a result. Stalag 13 is the new element, but I will never forget that the process began with you."

He coloured faintly. "I am no chemist, madame, but it seems to me that no reaction can start until the right ingredients are brought together. All of us have done our part. Let us hope for a successful result. And once Dubois is safe, it might be worth our while to look into whether Stalag 13 could be of assistance in our ongoing mission. The new laboratory is not far from there. I will look into the possibility, and let you know at our next meeting."

He glanced at his watch. "I must go, but I will contact you soon. Until then, be careful."

"You, too. _Au revoir_, Major Walther," she replied. The hint of a smile flickered across his face at the sound of his name on her lips, then he bowed and left; but she lingered briefly, contemplating the elements which had combined to bring them this far, and the potential effects of the new catalyst which was about to be introduced.

She could not predict the course of the reaction ahead, but she was certain of one thing. The results were going to be very interesting.


End file.
